By Al-Amin Isa
I want to state this clearly for the record: what KEDCO is doing to us is no longer electricity management. It has crossed the line. This thing has entered emotional abuse, with small elements of psychological warfare.
Because tell me why light behaves like a jealous ex.
Everything is calm. Your house is quiet. Your heart is at peace. You finally sit down after a long week, thinking, “Alhamdulillah, let me rest small.” That is exactly when the light will disappear, without explanation, without remorse, without even saying “sorry for the inconvenience.”
Just phoom.
Darkness.
And it’s not random darkness. No. It is precision darkness. Targeted. Intelligent. Wicked.
You want to iron your clothes for Juma’ah? Light off.
Your phone is at 4% and you’re expecting an important call? Light off.
Nigeria is playing a match and everyone is tense? Darkness, deep, serious darkness, like night in Katsina State’s latest discovery, Kogo Forest.
This is not coincidence. This is intent.
I am convinced there is a meeting every Thursday evening somewhere where they say:
“Who are we dealing with this weekend? Ah. Aminu’s house? Remove his light by 7:43pm. He was smiling too much last Friday.”
And after all this suffering, after your blood pressure has climbed Mount Kilimanjaro, they will still send you a bill with confidence.
A bill so bold you’d think they powered your house with private jet fuel.
You look at the bill.
You look at your darkness-filled memories.
You look at the bill again.
And you ask yourself:
“Is this bill for electricity or for emotional trauma?”
But Nigerians are resilient people. Especially in the North. We don’t shout too much. We just adapt quietly, and then shock you.
One day, after one too many weekends of suffering, we sat down as a family and had a serious discussion. Not about politics. Not about marriage.
About survival.
And that is how we met our saviour against KEDCO’s abuse: Inverter.
Ah.
The day we installed that inverter, something changed in our lives spiritually and emotionally.
Now, when light goes off, we don’t even react. No shouting. No insults. No long sigh.
We just hear “tik” and continue life.
Fans are spinning like they are proud of us. Bulbs are shining with confidence. Phones are charging with dignity.
And then comes the best part.
The neighbours.
They’ll interview you like investigative journalists on assignment.
“Ah-ahn… is light not off?”
“Yes, it is.”
“But yours is on?”
“Yes.”
“Which transformer are you using?”
“The same one.”
At that moment, you will smile, not an arrogant smile, but a peaceful one. The smile of someone who has escaped emotional abuse.
Because you see, once you stop depending on KEDCO for happiness, they lose power over you. Literally and emotionally.
Now, when they take light, it’s their business. When they bring it back, we may not even notice.
So to KEDCO, with all due respect:
We are no longer available for your weekend stress program.
We have retired from your Blood Pressure Distribution Scheme. We wish you well in finding new beneficiaries.
As for us?
We are inside, relaxed, fan blowing gently, living like people in a documentary titled:
“How Nigerians Survived Without Power and Still Laughed.”
Ah, I just remembered. Happy Yuletide to my Christian friends!
To KEDCO,
Let the record show:
What is supplied here is not electricity. It is sustained emotional distress.
The affected parties have since adapted, secured alternative arrangements, and are no longer available for weekend trauma allocation.
Case closed.
